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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668779">Adore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pied_r_piper/pseuds/pied_r_piper'>pied_r_piper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02, Digimon Adventure tri.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble Collection, Fluff and Humor, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:36:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pied_r_piper/pseuds/pied_r_piper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisuke does not like watching Takeru play basketball. [Drabble]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Motomiya Daisuke | Davis Motomiya/Takaishi Takeru | T.K. Takaishi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Adore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm known as a right-hand slugger<br/>Anybody else wanna touch my lover?</p><p>“Adore” by Amy Shark</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wait. Is this Motomiya at an actual loss for words?”</p><p>Daisuke does not bite, another sign.</p><p>So Takeru leans over, slinging the towel over a shoulder, to swipe up the water bottle he’d left near Daisuke’s chair. He sees the fidgeting knee shaking up and down and raises an eyebrow, glancing at the deep scowl as he takes a gulp, wiping his mouth.</p><p>“Daisuke.”</p><p>When the exaggerated tone he’d used with each syllable doesn’t work either, he tosses the empty bottle down, teasing, only for Daisuke to swerve, grumbling under his breath, narrowed brown eyes fixed across the gym in a hard glare.</p><p>Takeru swivels. “Who’re you here for but me?” he asks, then spots the teammate who’s been gesturing him back to their huddle, mirroring that million-watt smile with a blue-eyed wink. Some of the girls see him waving and cheer his name, and Takeru’s modest enough to pretend to blush, and now the coach spies him, too, less pleased with the distraction. Takeru lifts his hand and turns back, running out of seconds before the next quarter. “Is your mouth going to work at all tonight, or are you—?”</p><p>“What do you want me to say?” bursts Daisuke, so far over the edge he’s in freefall. “It’s not like I can have a conversation over the sound of this <em>ridiculous</em> crowd—who are all for the other team, okay, so let’s check that ego before you try flashing that stupid smile at those girls again—<em>real</em> athletes don’t need cheerleaders, you know—and who you <em>should</em> be talking to is your 4, he’s wide the fuck open every time but <em>you</em> apparently can’t see that with how often you send an assist to your <em>special friend</em> instead—like, for all your talk about this being some great selfless sport, in football we’re actually looking for each other, yeah? You don’t see me running the field without mine, knowing exactly how each of ‘em is out there with me, while <em>you</em>, despite playing in this shoebox of a court and still expecting me to believe this game is about endurance, <em>you</em> still can’t figure out how to make an offensive play that isn’t about putting your 5 in the worst poss—<em>what</em>?” he yells, strangled, because Takeru’s head is rolled back into a bellowing laugh, his damp blond hair curling around his perspiring face like some damn halo.</p><p>“You were paying attention to me.”</p><p>“I’m paying attention to the <em>game</em>,” thunders Daisuke, “a game that could use <em>your</em> attention instead of giving it to every dumb guy who’s—,”</p><p>He’s nearly lifted from the edge of his seat with how fast Takeru’s yanked him up by the collar of his shirt, lips bruised speechless and suddenly numb, breathless, smelling like sweat, tasting like salt crushed with iron.</p><p>“I take it back,” he says after another kiss pressed so hard Daisuke knows he’s adored. Takeru shoves him into the chair again, walking backwards onto the court, grinning. “You should shut up.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In my head, these are all (short, drabble, 500 word) scenes I won’t be able to include in “After Hours” without making that fic way too long, but nonetheless falls in the universe of that story. Plus, fluff!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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